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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23707003">Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaotic_trash_gremlin/pseuds/chaotic_trash_gremlin'>chaotic_trash_gremlin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Azula (Avatar) Redemption, Azula goes to therapy, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Gay Zuko (Avatar), Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, My First Fanfic, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, background sokka/zuko - Freeform, chapter-specific content warnings will be in the notes, no beta we die like jet, on god we gon get these kids some therapy bro, that's redundant but okay, the atla comics were a crime so i'm ignoring them completely, this will be a good fic w a happy ending tho!!!! promise, zuko is TRYING to be a good brother</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 06:01:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,033</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23707003</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaotic_trash_gremlin/pseuds/chaotic_trash_gremlin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been more than a year since Zuko became Fire Lord and ended the Hundred Years' War, and Azula's never been more conflicted. Struggling to navigate and understand the new world she lives in from the confines of her room (and her therapist's office) at the psychiatric hospital, she starts to disentangle her father's worldview from her own and work towards a healthier self-image, sorting out her relationships with family and friends along the way.</p><p>Basically - Azula gets the redemption arc (and the therapy!! and the older brother!!) she's always deserved with some Zukka thrown in as a bonus bc I'm nothing if not self-indulgent.</p><p>Title and chapter titles from Florence + The Machine's "Light of Love"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Azula &amp; Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>110</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>418</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. How did I get here? And how do I get back?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Super excited to share my first semi-complete fic with y'all! I'm very excited about writing this, so I hope to post remaining chapters regularly. Enjoy :D</p><p><b>TW for this chapter:</b> referenced child abuse, implied/referenced self-harm</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was over a year before Azula could smooth her choppy fringe into her topknot again. </p><p>Scowling, she noticed a couple of the shortest pieces of hair still stuck straight out of the top of her carefully folded bun. She plucked at them in dissatisfaction, threatening to pull apart her topknot entirely, <em>if only those hairs would just LIE FLAT – </em></p><p>She took a deep breath, steadying her hands on the cool porcelain of the wash basin. She pushed past her urge to cut off the offending hairs. It’s not like the nurses trusted her with anything that had a sharp edge anyway. Another deep breath, down through the bottom of her stomach, just like Dr. Jee had taught her. Out through her nose. She noticed fine cracks webbing the edges of the basin, like a hard-boiled eggshell she’d just rolled under her finger.</p><p>There was a faint knock on her door, snapping her to attention. Donning her starchy white outer robe, Azula strode out of the room to meet her escorts, not sparing another glance to the blurry tin mirror.</p><p>It was time for Azula to go to therapy.</p><p>***</p><p>This was her sixth therapist. Azula had been seeing her current counselor, Dr. Jee, for some fourteen months, but before then, she had an absolute record turnover rate. The first one, an old man who reminded her too much of Uncle, she simply refused to speak to. Apparently he got tired of that, because then the doctors transferred her to someone else, and then someone else after she scared the second one – a meek little man who she had cowering behind his desk in under 45 seconds – and so on. It was good to know she hadn’t lost her touch.</p><p>And then came Dr. Jee. Azula had just started in on her standard ‘Psychotic Masochist’ bit, the one that kept all other patents and doctors as far away from her as they could get, and Dr. Jee had <em>rolled her eyes at Azula</em>. It was almost enough to make Azula actually go crazy.</p><p>She leaned as far toward Dr. Jee as she could without losing her balance – the suit keeping her arms restrained close to her body really limited her range here – struck a too-wide grin and started in, in her coldest, most blood-curdling tone, “Listen, you insolent <em>bitch</em> – “</p><p>Dr. Jee cut her off calmly, looking away from Azula to flip through her file. “Sit down, Azula.”</p><p>It wasn’t often Azula was stunned into silence. Rage welled up in her, at Zuko and all the others who had put her here, at all the people who had the gall to disrespect her, at herself for letting herself go so much that she couldn’t even inspire fear in an Earth Kingdom peasant (from the looks of the doctor’s robes).</p><p>“Let’s get this out of the way, Azula. I’m Dr. Jee. I served in the Earth Kingdom army for 20 years. After the Siege of Ba Sing Se, I decided I’d seen enough killing for my lifetime. Ever since, I’ve been counseling trauma victims – mostly veterans and prisoners of war. You’re not going to be able to threaten me with something I haven’t already heard – or seen – and you’re not going to scare me off. Okay?”</p><p>Azula glowered at the woman. She wanted to spit fire at her, but it wouldn’t be worth ending up in the muzzle again. She sneered at her instead, “So then why are you here, <em>doctor</em>? Shouldn’t you be off counseling weepy army discharges who couldn’t take it?” </p><p>“Why do you say that?”</p><p>Azula rolled her eyes in turn, livid and acerbic. “Because I’m not a <em>victim</em> of shit! I made my choices, and I stand by them. I did what was best for me and the Fire Nation.”</p><p>Dr. Jee leaned back in her chair, unfazed. “Could you say more about that?”</p><p>Azula gritted her teeth until she heard them squeak. She’d already said more than she meant to.</p><p>***</p><p>That was how their first several sessions went – Jee asking questions that slowly, covertly drew more and more information from Azula, until Azula just gave in and started telling her things freely. Well, Jee wasn’t the only reason she caved – but Azula tried not to think about that these days.</p><p>Their sessions were more civil these days – friendly even, though Azula figured she wasn’t much of a judge of that, given her past record with friends. </p><p>Dr. Jee greeted her with a warm smile. “How are you feeling today?”</p><p>“Fine,” Azula still found it hard to discuss her feelings despite their three sessions a week, though she had managed to stop searching for malice behind the doctor’s words. “In… control.” She allowed herself a small smile.</p><p>“How so?”</p><p>She sighed deeply, resisting the urge to slouch back into her chair. This was the part she could never seem to get better at – dredging up her feelings and fears, everything she’d been drilled to hide, even from herself, and articulating them. </p><p>When she was younger, her father instructed her to practice advanced dodging techniques by ordering archers to fire at her. Once, she’d faltered and lost her footing on a landing, unable to spring out of the way of the next arrow, which lodged itself firmly in the side of her shin. In her rage, she’d pulled the arrow out of her leg before the physicians could reach her; it was more excruciating than being shot.</p><p>Answering Dr. Jee’s questions often felt like pulling out that arrow: the initial shock of the question, the agony of drawing out the answer, the relief once the ordeal was over, once the words were out there in the open where she could grapple with them.</p><p>“I, uh, was able to stop being hypercritical of myself this morning,” Azula took a deep breath, briefly focusing on the scars lining her wrists before meeting Jee’s patient gaze, “and, ah – was able to redirect some of my violent impulses. Against myself.”</p><p>“I’m glad to hear it. Do you want to talk more about that?”</p><p>***</p><p>It was near the end of their session, and their conversation had reached a comfortable, quiet lull when Dr. Jee ventured, almost timidly, “Have you read any of the letters?”</p><p>Azula felt a muscle in her jaw twitch involuntarily. “<em>No.</em>” She flinched at the razor’s edge of her own voice; she hadn’t meant to be so curt. She let a long, charged moment passed, focusing intently on the simple beveled edge of the chair’s arm. “Do you think I should?”</p><p>“I’ve told you before, it’s up to you, Azula.”</p><p>“But what do you think?”</p><p>Jee sighed deeply. This was a conversation they’d had many times before. That Azula never got a straight answer never stopped her from trying. To Azula’s shock, Jee responded hesitantly, “I think it would do you good to talk to someone who’s been through the same things as you, and those are in short supply.” The two women shared a wry smile. </p><p>Jee let another heavy moment pass before continuing, “And I know your brother cares about you very much.”</p><p>Azula pressed her eyes closed, hard, willing herself not to cry. “I’ll – I’ll think about it.” She ignored the crack of her voice, rising to bow her head cordially to Jee. “See you in two days?”</p><p>Jee rose to open the door for her, “Yes, in two days. Be well, Azula.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is my first time posting fic, so any positive feedback/encouragement you have would mean a lot to me! Find me on tumblr at <a href="https://just-another-trans-twink.tumblr.com/">@just-another-trans-twink</a> for updates, lukewarm atla takes, and lots of zukka :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Now we are awake, and it seems too much to take</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Azula thinks back to the last time she saw her brother.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HOOOOO BOY THIS ONE WAS HARD TO WRITE! </p><p> </p><p>  <b>PLEASE HEED THE FOLLOWING TWs:</b></p><p> </p><p>This chapter (but not ones following) carries tws for depression and mentions of self harm/suicide. Please don't read if it will be triggering for you!! I'll provide a tl;dr of this chapter in the notes for the next chapter if you want to skip it entirely. If you want to just skip the heavier parts of this chapter:</p><p><b>For those looking to skip the majority of (and the worst of) the depression/suicide content:</b> Skip from the first break (***) to the second paragraph after the second break, starting with "She had a memory of a flicker..."</p><p><b>For those looking to just skip the more explicit implications of suicide:</b> Skip from "What was she, if not a weapon?" to "She had a memory of a flicker..." (4 paragraphs later)</p><p>Please let me know if I should add any additional tags/tws! And enjoy :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Azula returned to her room to find the floors freshly mopped and lunch cooling at her small, hospital-issue desk – the usual. She supposed she was lucky to have her own room, even if it was because she was a ‘threat to public safety.’</p><p>She crossed the small room to stand on top of her bed, carefully prying the glass pane out of the window with her fingernails. It was small enough she might be able to squeeze through it were it not for the metal bars on the exterior. And the six guards and two watchtowers in the courtyard – she’d mapped it all out shortly after arriving, but hadn’t been able to find the weak point yet. Besides, she’d tabled all possible escape plans, anyway.</p><p>Azula might still resent being in this glorified jail, but even she had to admit that the treatment was helping her deal with all the changes the past couple years had brought. She could think of her mother without wanting to smash the nearest available object. Her father, well… she couldn’t necessarily say the same, though the fear and rage bubbling in her gut at any mention of the man was less daunting, but more complicated, than constantly vying for his ever-distant approval.</p><p>She took a deep breath of humid summer air, closing her eyes and letting the heat wash through her bones briefly before jumping off her bed to retrieve the week’s news, rolled up neatly and secured to the underside of her desk, as usual. News was limited here, officially – anything deemed ‘potentially inflammatory’ to patients was prohibited. But there were always workarounds, no matter where you were. Here it was Huong, the custodian who would leave real, non-hospital-censored news hidden in patients’ rooms once a week for money or favors.</p><p>Spread across the first page was a print of the Fire Lord’s face, Zuko’s regal, imposing demeanor contrasting with the descriptions of talks to cede the Fire Nation’s Earth Kingdom colonies and disbursals of money and labor for reparations.</p><p>Azula smirked slightly. She may never admit it, but she missed her brother, just as she missed him during the three years of his banishment, when Ozai was hyperfocused on honing her abilities, making her the perfect weapon. Things were easier when he was around; she was more certain of where she stood. And his abominably short temper was amusing, at least.</p><p>She avoided news about him and his life to the extent that she could. And the letters. Memories of him brought up so much pain, especially of the last time she’d seen him.</p><p>***</p><p>She didn’t like to dwell on the details. She did it after she’d been here for many months, after her sessions with Dr. Jee had brought her to confront Ozai’s dark voice inside her, after her inner fire had ebbed to a flicker.</p><p>It happened gradually at first – meditation got harder, once you couldn’t stand to be alone with your thoughts. She would be mere minutes into her morning breathing exercises when she would start bickering with her parents, her brother, her uncle, her friends – </p><p><em>You’re weak, mind and body. You should have been able to beat Zuko. The weakness of the Fire Nation is your fault. </em>There is no honor in slaughter. Father was wrong, and he brainwashed you. <em>You were doing your duty to the Fire Nation. There is honor in strength, not weakn-</em> You’re crazy. A monster. Look at all the people you’ve hurt. You can’t undo that. <em>Why would anyone be friends with you? Be loyal to you? Your weakness caused this.</em> You deflected your pain onto everyone else and it was not your salvation but your ruin. </p><p>She’d be left short of breath, unable to focus on anything but the questions cycling through her mind: <em>What have I done? Was it right? What now?</em> There were never answers.</p><p>It took time and careful insistence by Dr. Jee for Azula to understand that her father had been abusive, and that the things he’d done, the atrocities he’d committed, were wrong. Mostly because that would then mean that Azula, too, had innocent blood on her hands. </p><p>When it finally sank in that being trained as an elite child soldier wasn’t a ‘normal’ or ‘healthy’ childhood (even by Fire Nation standards), the realization made Azula feel like she was conducting lightning again. White hot, astounding, crackling through her whole body, too close to her nerves. Terrifying.</p><p>She wasn’t sure what she was guilty of yet, but she knew there was something. Many things, maybe.</p><p>With that realization, the anger began to ebb out of her. At her mother, who she couldn’t blame for running from Ozai and the monsters he was creating. At her brother, for wanting to put an end to the cycles of abuse and destruction. At the people who called her weak, or a monster, because maybe they were right. To replace the anger, there was only shame, and a great uncertainty.</p><p>Next she stopped being able to produce blue fire, unable to muster the will and concentration it took to produce a superheated flame. Her bending decayed quickly after that, and after a couple more weeks, was able to do little more than shower sparks from her fingers, a party trick for the untrained.</p><p>What was she, if not a firebender?</p><p>What was she, if not her father’s daughter?</p><p>What was she, if not a weapon?</p><p>Azula decided to take her life calmly, calculatedly. She was always a brilliant strategist, and now would be no exception. Simply, there was nothing left for her to do, except grapple with the maddening ambiguities now plaguing her existence, the questions that felt more unresolvable by the day.</p><p>She did it when the mirror in her room was still made of glass. When she knew there would be enough time before someone checked on her.</p><p>***</p><p>It wasn’t often Azula miscalculated. She didn’t know what prompted a guard or a nurse or a custodian to enter the room earlier than scheduled. She never wanted to ask the question enough to discuss the event.</p><p>She had a memory of a flicker of consciousness afterwards, of being mostly submerged in a tub of water, in a hospital – well, a more aggressively medical hospital. What caused her to start into almost-consciousness was a figure barging into the room, sweeping crimson robes contrasting sharply against the blues of the benders leaning over her, a familiar glint of gold in their hair.</p><p>The next time her eyes lolled open she was greeted with a familiar face, brow furrowed in deep concentration, hands moving rhythmically just above the water’s surface. The one from the Agni Kai, her brain distantly, slowly provided, <em>Katara</em>. She was speaking, voice muffled by the water lapping over Azula’s ears, briefly glancing over her shoulder, out of Azula’s line of sight, “… a lot of damage done, Zuko… more difficult because she went so long without a healer, but she’ll –“</p><p>Azula wasn’t the impulsive sibling, but between her fragile state and the lack of blood in her brain, she found herself acting without thinking. She needed to, to – </p><p>As soon as Azula’s hand reached out of the water and closed around Katara’s wrist, she felt all the water in the tub turn to ice, save for the sheet sharpened to a razor’s edge, suspended ominously above her. There was a flurry of movement elsewhere in the room, but it took all of Azula’s concentration to look into the face above her, contorted with rage, and hoarsely whisper, “I’m sorry.”</p><p>As Azula blacked out again, she saw Katara’s face fall into confusion as the water around her began to warm and thaw.</p><p>Azula meant it. She may not know what to make of her brother’s decisions, or their uncle’s misguided wisdom, or the new direction the Fire Nation was moving steadily towards, but she knew that what she did in that fateful Agni Kai was wrong. It was dishonorable to the highest degree, against rules sacred to Agni, to target bystanders. Firebenders guilty of such an act would often have their social class stripped and topknots cut, or worse. </p><p>That was the beginning and the end of her apologies. She hadn’t had the opportunity for any others. Even if she did, she wasn’t sure she’d have that kind of strength.</p><p>***</p><p>Before, the letters had come intermittently. They stopped entirely after, for a few weeks, until Dr. Jee gave her small stack of them, saying she had held them for Azula, “in case they were triggering.” Then the letters came often, every week. </p><p>She kept them all, unopened, arranged neatly in a box by the order she received them, each addressed to her in her brother’s careful and increasingly formal handwriting. Each was fairly thin; unsurprising, given words were never Zuzu’s strong suit, anyway. She didn’t know why she didn’t just read them. </p><p>She ran her fingers over the edges of the envelopes, each susurrating satisfyingly against her nails. Just contemplating opening one dredged up so many emotions she didn’t know what to do with, how to control – fear, shame, frustration, guilt, blame, regret. It was far easier to pretend Zuko didn’t care about her at all, that he’d left her to rot in jail, forgotten and unmourned. Unmissed.</p><p>Jee’s voice rang in her head, clear above the muddle of Azula’s emotions, <em>It would do you good to talk to someone who’s been through the same things as you.</em> And though Azula was greatly indebted to Dr. Jee, <em>Agni</em>, was she dying to talk to someone who wasn’t a fucking doctor.</p><p><em>You can always stop</em>, she told herself, <em>He won’t know if you’ve read them or not. He’s probably not even expecting a response at this point.</em></p><p>She tipped her head back to rest in the thin beam of sun falling through the window. The air smelled of fire lilies, laced faintly with the smell of the tobacco the guards smoked. She missed the outside world, being part of it.</p><p>Maybe this was a way back in.</p><p>Without looking, she pulled the first letter from the box. <em>One,</em> she thought, <em>and if he’s an ass, I stop. And maybe try to reconnect with my fire by using these as kindling.</em></p><p>She slid her thumb under the royal seal, turning her gaze to the letter, illuminated by the sun.
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>PLEASE leave a comment/kudos if you enjoyed, validation and interaction fuel me in these trying times</p><p>Thanks for reading! Come find me on tumblr <a href="https://just-another-trans-twink.tumblr.com/">@just-another-trans-twink</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. I want to close my eyes (because I fear my heart will break)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello, i have returned! </p><p>life got a bit whack and finals gave me a pavlovian stress response to opening my laptop, so I couldn't really write for a while. thanks to everyone who read/gave kudos/commented - seeing how much azula's recovery and realistic depictions of trauma matter to other people honestly means so much to me!</p><p><b>as promised, the tl;dr for the last chapter for those of you who wanted to skip it:</b> azula reflects on her journey so far in therapy/the hospital. dealing with her ptsd and trauma (and confronting ozai's bullshit) made her very depressed, she stopped being able to firebend, and she attempted suicide. katara heals her, and azula apologizes to her for trying to kill her in the agni kai. azula (after this flashback) decides to read zuko's letters.</p><p><b>TW for this chapter:</b> mention of past child abuse</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first envelope was unusually thicker than the others. Opening it, Azula found three sheets of paper inside, each a separate letter. The first in the envelope letter was dated about two months after the war’s end:</p><p>
  <i>August 3</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Azula,</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I don’t know what I’m trying to accomplish by writing these letters. Spirits, I don’t even know if I’ll send them. I don’t know what to think about you, or even what to do with you. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>That… sounds harsher than I meant. I hope you know, or realize, or believe, that it was my decision to send you to the hospital, not prison, like father. I hope you know I don’t think about you like I do him. My advisers, shit, even my friends told me to put you there instead, but… I guess I still think of you as my little sister, in a way. You’d probably light me on fire for saying that, though.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I’m worried, Azula. About a lot, but about you too. I get updates from the hospital – no specifics, don’t worry, the hospital may not be ideal, but at least they have some respect for patient privacy – and, well. It doesn’t sound good.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Whatever. Like I said, I don’t know why I’m writing these.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>- Zuko</i>
</p><p>
  <i>***</i>
</p><p>
  <i>September 14</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Azula,</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I’ve been thinking a lot about what I wrote in my last letter, about still thinking of you as my little sister. It was a shock to me even when I wrote it, but I meant it. Guess that’s why my doctor kept pushing for me to try the letter writing thing. Huh.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>But, yeah… I’ve been thinking about that a lot more. Katara and Sokka have been spending a lot of time in the Palace, helping with demilitarization and reparations, and watching them interact has been particularly painful, but also illuminating, I guess? They bicker constantly, and at least twice a week I’m sure Katara’s actually going to murder Sokka and I’ll have to find a new civil engineer, but… they take care of each other. And they care about each other so much.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I wish we had a relationship like theirs. I wish we had been able to have a relationship like theirs.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>- Zuko</i>
</p><p>
  <i>***</i>
</p><p>
  <i>October 2</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Azula,</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I can’t sleep. It’s pretty common, given the nightmares. The assassination attempts don’t help, either. You probably get them too, huh? The nightmares, not the assassins, that is. Mine are almost always about father, or about becoming like him.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving, for getting banished. I’m sorry I left you alone with him. I know we had been pitted against each other long before then, but, still. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to live in the Palace for another three years, never mind as an only child.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I think I would have been a lot more like him.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>So I’m sorry, not in the way that there’s anything I would do differently, but in the way that I wish things were different all the same. I’ve decided to send you this, and the two other letters. The reports I get from the hospital are worrying, and I don’t know what to do. But I want you to know that I’m here for you, and things don’t have to be this way. I want us to be siblings again, and if writing letters can help that – help you – then I’ll do it.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>- Zuko</i>
</p><p>***</p><p>The paper blurred in front of Azula’s eyes. She felt hot tears spill down her cheeks, distantly noticing the scratch of parchment on her hands as the letter fell through her fingers to the desk.</p><p>Suddenly, violently, she sprung away from the offending paper, knocking over her desk chair to stand shakily in the middle of the room. She wanted to burn them, burn all of those damned letters and pretend he’d never written them, pretend her lightning had killed him in that fucking agni kai, pretend Uncle or the Avatar or someone else sat on that throne, someone who would have left her in prison to rot in peace.</p><p>Her palms sweat, cold and clammy. No sparks, no heat, nothing.</p><p>She <i>knew</i> her brother. He was a fighter, not a strategist: able to improvise brilliantly at a moment’s notice, but unable to see beyond the fight he was in. He didn’t have the forethought or the patience for true manipulation and deception, what a year-long scheme like this would require. If he wanted something from her, he would have barged in here and made some poorly thought out threats many months ago. </p><p>If Zuko wrote these, Azula had no choice but to believe him. And the letters were undeniably in his hand – she could still pick out the minute asymmetries and the slight rushed slant in his characters. Their calligraphy teacher would rap them over the knuckles with a ruler for such mistakes; she always took careful note of his errors to avoid making them herself.</p><p>But she didn’t <i>want</i> to believe him.</p><p>Azula drew a ragged breath, rubbed at her eyes until she saw spots. “What would Jee say right now?” she muttered to herself. She stared into the mirror, through her reflection, letting her eyes unfocus for a moment. It wasn’t uncommon for her to have breakdowns like this in Dr. Jee’s office. She took a deep breath, letting her eyes fall shut.</p><p>“What’s beneath what you’re feeling right now? Where are these emotions coming from, and what are they hiding?” Jee’s constant query to Azula. Azula unclenched her fists and flexed her fingers before righting her chair to sit in it.</p><p>She took another deep breath, steadying herself.</p><p>She felt <i>guilty.</i> Guilty for hurting Zuko, for hating him then, and for still hating him now. She didn’t want his forgiveness, or his sympathy; she wasn’t ready to return them. And she wasn’t sure she’d earned them, anyway.</p><p>“Forgiveness isn’t about what you feel you deserve; it’s about what the other person is willing to give.” Jee’s gentle words came back to Azula. She clenched her jaw in response.</p><p>Fine. She could read the rest of them. It was the least she could do for her brother.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>come yell at me on <a href="https://just-another-trans-twink.tumblr.com/">tumblr!</a></p><p>also, if you want more redeemed azula and/or zukka content, please check out <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24749542">this oneshot</a> I cowrote with my wonderful roommate, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladanse/pseuds/ladanse">ladanse!</a> (it's much lighter than this one lol) she also FINALLY showed me how to hyperlink in ao3! growth!</p><p>I already have chapter 4 mostly written, so hopefully I won't end up on hiatus again soon. stay safe and enjoy the atla renaissance, y'all!</p><p>thanks for reading, and as always, kudos/comment/subscribe if you enjoyed!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The feeling was always too much for me (it always came too strong)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks again for everyone's wonderful comments! i read them constantly, y'all bring me so much joy &lt;3</p>
<p>i made a playlist for this fic!!!! check it out <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6xtwrXlaQiJp8I8wvgaA0J?si=LlEvQY3JTXqX7MfC52s4lw">here</a></p>
<p><b>TW for this chapter:</b> vague mentions of past suicide attempt, descriptions of canon child abuse</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>October 23</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Azula,</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Nightmares again. I think about you often, but the only time I really get time to write you is in the middle of the night when I should be sleeping. Turns out stopping a hundred-year war is a lot more difficult than starting one.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>I want to add to my last letter that I don’t need you to reply. Uncle says it’ll take time, or at least I think that’s what he meant. Personally, I’m a bit shocked I haven’t gotten a bag of ashes back from you yet. Not that I’d blame you for it. And if you want the letters to stop, just let me know. Or uh, send the ashes.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>I’ve never been that good with words. I mean, you knew that but… I don’t know what to talk to you about. I can’t remember the last time we talked that wasn’t about the war. Is there anything you <b>want</b> to talk about? I tried to figure out what siblings talk about from Sokka and Katara, but they mostly just call each other names and stick their tongues out at each other, and I’d like to move past that. Let me know?</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>- Zuko</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>***</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>November 1</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Azula,</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Agni, I don’t understand how you ever enjoyed politics. If I have to nod politely through another adviser’s pitch of (complete dragonshit) ideas, I might actually set someone on fire. General Yin is as dense as ever, and…</i>
</p>
<p>Azula smirked; Zuzu’s lack of patience meant he’d never been able to wait for his opponents to reveal their weak points. That’s what settled most battles – political and otherwise – in the end: whoever could anticipate more of their opponent’s moves won. He hadn’t anticipated she’d target a bystander; she hadn’t anticipated anything, really, vision too clouded by her own rage and grief. Zuko had been the victor.</p>
<p>She wasn’t sure either of them knew what their next moves were, though.</p>
<p>His letters for the following few months contained little more than complaints about court nuisances, hesitant inquiries to how she was doing, and occasional, vague updates on the state of the nation.</p>
<p>She was still chuckling about Zuko’s last quips concerning Master Bo as she opened the seventh envelope. At the sight of the letter’s date, she abruptly fell silent, drawing in a ragged breath. The letter was dated the day after her suicide attempt.</p>
<p>
  <i>January 5</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Azula,</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>What do I do now?</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Did you do this because of me? Because of my letters? </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>I’m writing this from your hospital room now – do you want me here when you wake up? You… well, you obviously don’t have to answer that question. You don’t have to answer any of them.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Given how many times we’ve tried to kill each other, I would’ve thought seeing you near-dead would have been less awful. But, Azula, this time, when I thought you were going to die, I was so afraid of losing you, of losing my last chance to be a good brother, to make up for everything our family has done to push us apart.  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Azula, I’m so sorry. So sorry this is how things turned out. We should’ve been there for each other. I should’ve been there to protect you. I’d do anything, now, to keep him from hurting you again.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>I’ll leave before you wake up – I don’t want you to have to see me again without having a choice. I don’t want to make anything worse. I’ll keep writing the letters, though. Unless you (or the doctor) tell me not to. I don’t want you to think you’re alone.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>- Zuko</i>
</p>
<p>Azula dropped her head into her hands as uncontrollable sobs wracked her body.</p>
<p>Since her suicide attempt, she had frequently felt shame for committing what was, in the eyes of the Fire Nation, an act of cowardice. Occasionally she felt fear for what would have happened if no one found her in time.</p>
<p>This was the first time Azula felt regret, true regret, for making the attempt. She’d wanted to be done hurting people, especially Zuko. She’d thought there was nothing left for her outside of the walls of the hospital, no family for her to return to.</p>
<p>She still wasn’t sure if there was, wasn’t sure if Zuko wanted to keep her at a distance, safely separate from his life, but…</p>
<p>Azula had been so convinced all her life that she didn’t need him, that he would drag her down if she leaned on him for even a moment, that he was weak and traitorous and wrong. Dishonored. Pressing her eyes shut, she could see her father’s grimace upon seeing them playing together when they were children, hear the cold blade of his voice condemn Zuko and praise her in the same breath, smell the char of her brother’s flesh after the Agni Kai.</p>
<p>She’d never told him, or anyone else, but she had nightmares still about that day, had woken up with the ghosts of Zuko’s screams in her ears too many times to count. The dreams started when she was eleven; they never really stopped.</p>
<p>Voice choked by tears, she leaned into her hands, still pressed firmly over her face in some feeble and futile effort to hold herself together, keened “<i>I miss you</i>,” to a person she never knew, to a relationship that was never allowed to exist, to all the versions of herself and her brother that died before they were born.</p>
<p>She didn’t know for how long she cried, but as soon as her hand was steady enough to hold a brush, she began writing her own letter, still shaky, but more assured than she had been in over a year that she was doing the right thing.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>
  <i>October 19</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Zuko,</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>The letters were nice. I’m sorry I didn’t read them sooner. And for other things.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>I’d like to see you. I think it would be nice to have a brother.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>- Azula</i>
</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>His response arrived the next afternoon, more hastily written than his preceding letters:</p>
<p>
  <i>Just received your note this morning. I’ll be by tomorrow afternoon unless I hear otherwise from you. See you soon.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>- Zuko</i>
</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>In spite of the nerves twisting in her gut, Azula smiled. She had a brother.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>leave a kudos/comment to give my adhd brain the Dopamine<sup>TM</sup> i need to keep updating lmao</p>
<p>&amp; hmu on <a href="https://just-another-trans-twink.tumblr.com/">tumblr!</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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